I Can See You
by Number1PixarFan
Summary: Oneshot. Russia and Sarah Palin have a staring contest. Also, England can't get the hang of playing baseball. Yes, the writer is a Democrat.


**A/N: I find myself doing this disclaimer every time I post something Hetalia-related online now, but I generally dislike anime. I started watching/reading this particular anime/web comic/manga to please my anime freak friends, and I turned out really liking it. All of the other animes my friends watch are weird, though. So it's just Hetalia.**

**As for the story itself. I'm sure this joke has already been made millions of times (I actually got the idea from a fan art with a picture of Russia holding binoculars and saying "I can see Alaska from my house.") But the plot bunny wanted to be written so badly. I'm gonna print it out for my best friend's birthday/Christmas present, and I really like it so I'm posting in on as well! Yay!**

**I also haven't been watching Hetalia for very long, so if the character relationships aren't written perfectly, that would be my reason.**

**And yes, I am a Democrat and I think Sarah Palin is a whack job, but the story itself is not politically charged. If the infamous line was attributed to Paris Hilton, it could easily be rewritten to be about Paris Hilton (who is, **_**thank God,**_** not a politician). Still, if you love Sarah Palin, it might not be the world's best read for you.**

**Enjoy! Please R&R!**

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The ocean. So vast and so deep. It was the biggest, darkest mass in the entire world, so much that the next biggest and next darkest barely came close to rivaling it.

The land that held both of those titles was the country of Russia. These traits manifested themselves in an individual, Ivan Braginsky. Such a troubled man was he that there were only two things that could ever internally calm him: sunflowers and the awesome span of the ocean. At times, he would stand at the edge of his country, staring over the icy sea that separated it from North America.

The bracing air of the coast crept past his thick jacket and scarf. It brought rare tears of sadness to his eyes. Whether he managed to conquer the world or not, he would always be overshadowed by the waters. He had heard that in other parts of the world, the ocean was azure, but the Russian ocean was a cold gray. Even colder than him.

It was a place he would venture to when he got sick of abusing his family. But one day, Russia suddenly felt another person's presence somewhere very near. He couldn't tell whether it was another nation or just a mortal, but there was definitely an unseen pair of eyes watching him.

And that was _not _okay.

Russia turned around, looking for the mystery person hiding in the ice land surrounding him. He couldn't see another for miles.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was invading his personal space. "Da? Who is there?" he called. "Is it Latvia, you silly little boy?"

Nobody answered.

The prickly feeling of eyes watching him formed on the back of his head. He faced the sea again and squinted. In the foggy distance, something came clearly into view. Russia knew that it was called Alaska.

Russia scowled briefly. America. He had nothing personal against America, loud and self-involved as he was, but he had once owned Alaska. Dear Alfred had milked it out of him in the hopes it might bring him some cash (as if the rich bastard really needed it.) Of course, all of America would eventually become one with Mother Russia again, but it was a bother to think about it.

And now there was someone living in that American land who was _spying _on Russia! It was the only explanation for the disturbed sensation he was feeling. The wide ocean was so thin between country and state that with the aid of a telescope, someone in Alaska could easily spot the nearby country.

Someone who invaded his privacy like that deserved to get beaten up . . .

Two could play at that game. Russia reached into his pocket and withdrew a pair of old binoculars. Shaking hair out of his eyes, he peered into them. The world ahead of him appeared blurred, so he adjusted them. And then Alaska came into full view.

"Oh!" he gasped.

* * *

"Swing batta-batta swing batta-batta swing! Aw, c'mon, dude!" America shouted to a disgruntled England.

"Good God, stop using that bloody chant, will you? It's distracting me," England replied. He held a wooden baseball bat awkwardly in front of him. That bat had not managed to hit one ball all afternoon.

"Pick any Little League field throughout the US and you'll see it doesn't faze little kids in the least," America said. "But okay." He adjusted his glasses and baseball cap, and prepped to pitch the ball to his ex-father figure. He was dressed casually to teach the uptight Brit how to play his favorite sport.

And so was England, if you consider a sweater vest and slacks casual. Still, it wasn't helping him in baseball. The man had hardly any hand-eye coordination. The bat shook in his hands as he crouched too low to the ground. "Now do your worst," he said with false confidence.

America swung his arm back, but in the middle of his pitch, he was thrown off by the tinny sound of the national anthem – his cell phone. He wound up tossing it too low. England shrieked and held the bat in front of the sensitive area it was honing in for. The ball struck the bat and bounced over the healthy green grass of the garden.

"Hey, you managed to bunt!" America encouraged him as he took out his phone. The caller ID simply read "Long Distance." Must have been another nation.

"I was trying to defend myself, you clumsy fool!" England called back.

America rolled his eyes amiably and answered, "All right, then!" Then he turned away and answered the phone. "Sup?"

"America! You still own Alaska, da?" said a voice on the other end.

"Um," America uttered. He couldn't be too sure who was calling . . . "Yes, I do." The accent gave a hint, but he didn't want it to be true . . . "Russia?"

"Yes. America, I would like to report something _unpleasant,_" Russia said with a lilting hiss. "In Alaska, there is a creepy lady staring at me from her house. And I want her to stop."

Even feeling the shock of being called in the middle of the afternoon on an off day by Ivan, America still instantly had a hunch what he might be talking about. An Alaskan woman who could see Russia from her house? He cringed. That sounded all too familiar. Poor Russia might be dealing with someone as mental as himself.

Still, one had to be careful when speaking with Russia. "Okay then," he said slowly. "So you saw a soccer mom staring at you from her house?"

"I did not say 'soccer mom.'"

"Okay. But was she wearing glasses and way too much makeup?" America ventured.

"Da, she is."

She _is. _Huh. Russia was calling just to complain about this woman stalking him, while he was returning the favor without a qualm. Well, that was nutso for you.

"And does she have a beehive hairdo?" America asked.

"Um . . . " Russia paused, presumably to check. "Yes."

America smiled in spite of himself. "Then there's a good chance you've run into Sarah Palin, dude." All the former Allies knew about Sarah Palin. Explanations shouldn't be needed.

"Eh, Sarah Palin. The crazy lady who tried to take you over?" Russia replied. "Okay. Now get rid of her."

Ooh. It was a risk to deny something like that to Ivan Braginsky, but America shakily informed him, "Sorry, I can't. I'm in Britain right now –" He looked back at England, who was violently trying to practice, swinging the bat around his head like a barbarian. "– and Sarah's pretty far away at this point."

Immediately he knew it had been poorly planned. He could practically hear Russia's expression darkening on the other end of the line. He had to come up with a save.

"I would humor her if I were you," he said frantically. "She _is _a little, well, like you said . . . "

A click and an endless beep rang into America's ear. Bewildered, he looked at the screen. CALL ENDED. Russia had hung up on him! Oh crap, he had probably angered him. America put the phone back in his pocket, quaking for his life.

"Are you quite finished? Because I'm as psyched as I'll ever be," England called, putting unneeded stress on the American slang.

"Oh. Yeah," America replied unenthusiastically. Not even England's ridiculously impractical stance, with his arms swung so far past his shoulders that the bat was practically wrapped around his neck, could brighten him from the bizarre conversation he had just held. He stood in front of England and pitched. By accident, it was overhand. And with all the shaking in fear, his aim was wonky.

His eyes opened wide up when he realized his mistake. "Swing batta-batta!" he cried in panic. But all England could do was stare as the baseball zoned in squarely towards his head.

* * *

"What happened to your head?" France snarkily asked England at the next world meeting. "Did you finally get so weak and whiny that Italy Veneziano was able to clobber you?"

England scowled. He was nursing a swelling bump just above his forehead. "For your information, no."

France scoffed in mock offense. "Well, what did you do, then?"

England nodded across the table to America. "Damn Yankee hit me with a baseball," he said.

America smiled uncomfortably. He didn't care if England was mad at him. He knew that Russia would be there soon if he wasn't already –

"You lost a game, England?" America jumped at the voice of Russia behind him. He turned to see him standing right behind his chair, calm and smiling as usual. But who knew what that smile could be hiding? A grudge plot against the Land of Liberty, perhaps?

Nobody responded to the Russian's comment with anything but silence, so he completed his own thought. "I _won _a game yesterday." Still nothing. "A staring contest." And silence. "Against an American lady."

Whoa. America practically fell over in his chair, but the much larger Russia caught him. "You don't mean Sarah Palin, do you?" he asked, gasping for breath.

Russia took his seat between America and a highly amused France. "Da," he replied.

"Um, about that, you're not, I don't know, angry at me for bailing on you, are you?" America asked.

The countries in near proximity all went silent, giving America a stunned look. It was so risky to fail Russia in any way, or to ask him about his feelings.

And America was such a young nation. Pity.

"What do you mean, bailing on me? You gave me good advice," Russia said, even more cheerfully than one might expect. "I humored Ms. Palin like you said, and it became a staring contest. And it was fun. And, I beat her!"

America, once tense, calmed right down. Was that it?

"Excuse me, but how do you hold a staring contest from across the ocean?" France asked.

"It was for however long with could watch each other without getting tired and leaving."

"How long was that?" America asked. Now over his fear, he was somewhat curious about how it had played out. Especially with the two personalities it involved.

Russia grinned. "Two hours!"

France and America laughed. "Wow. Russia and Sarah Palin, staring at each other for two whole hours," America chuckled. "That's something."

England raised a thick eyebrow. "Crazy minds _do _think alike," he muttered.

Russia leaned forward towards the Brit. "What was that?" he said. A dark aura vaguely began to surround him.

England's eyes widened. Shakily, he leaned back in his chair. Pointing to the bump on his head, he whimpered, "If you must scar me, at least make it match this one!"

Russia laughed from deep inside his chest and sat back. He left England cowering. Even though he'd never conquer the ocean, he'd always have the smaller nations to terrify. And that was an endless reassurance. He couldn't tell you how good it had felt just to reduce America into a pile of Jell-O for the entirety of the past day.

"Don't any of you try to escape Mother Russia," he said cheerfully. "I can see you all from my house."

Everyone shuddered.

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**A/N: I hope you liked it! Feel free to R&R!**

**Also, if you can find the obscure musical theater reference towards the end, you get imaginary cookies.**


End file.
